


Let Go

by Sylv



Category: Victorious
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylv/pseuds/Sylv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Robbie needs someone who will speak for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Go

Robbie didn't speak. He hadn't said anything in months and his aunt was starting to worry. The therapists she had sent him to couldn't break through to him—he wouldn't draw pictures, he wouldn't play with dolls or blocks and he wouldn't make eye contact. Robbie, once so engaged in his class, now sat with his head down on the desk and kicked his feet back and forth until the day was over without once saying a word.

The poor boy had a haunted look in his eye, the mark of one who had to grow up far too quickly. He flinched horribly whenever he heard the sound of steel sliding and threw a fit if someone tried to force him into the den. He cuddled up with a pillow and curled up against his aunt's side while they slept, dreams plagued with monsters that he used to know.

" _Robbie, I know that you don't want to talk to me, and that's okay. We can sit here for a while if you want. But I have someone that I would like you to meet."_

But this new therapist—Robbie's aunt thought that he might be different. He specialized in traumatized children and wasn't trying any of those usual tricks to get kids to open up. He seemed to know what he was doing and she held her breath, barely trusting herself to hope that he might be the one. She had had too many disappointments thus far.

Every Monday evening at five they met up in a comfortable room with a couch, shelves of games and toys, and a bright atmosphere helped immensely by the colors of the room. The first appointment consisted of her filling him in a bit on what had happened—Robbie saw this and Robbie heard that and Robbie wasn't speaking and she was really getting worried.

A look of sympathy crossed the therapist's face, but he showed no other reaction otherwise and motioned her to stay in the room while he sat on the floor with her nephew.

" _His name is Rex, and he told me that he wants to be friends with you. I know that it's hard to talk for you, but Rex is good at saying what you don't want to say. You can keep him."_

That day, the therapist had placed the puppet 'Rex' next to Robbie on the floor and spent the rest of the time putting together a puzzle that failed to attract the little boy's attention. When forty-five minutes had passed his aunt stood up and called to him. He barely glanced up at her, but she did notice that he picked up the puppet by the arm and brought it with him as they left the room.

The next day Robbie came down to the kitchen table at breakfast still holding the puppet, and his aunt allowed a bubble of happiness to swell in her breast for just a moment. He still didn't speak, and neither did 'Rex' although she wasn't sure what was supposed to happen there. But she made no protestations when Robbie gently stowed Rex away in his backpack, leaving the very top open so that, she was assuming, he could breathe.

Before leaving for work, she phoned the principal of his elementary school and briefly summarized what was happening with this new therapy attempt. The woman quickly promised to inform Robbie's second grade teacher.

That day, she went to work a little lighter.

" _Are you and Rex getting along, Robbie? Tell me what happened with you two this past week."_

_Robbie said nothing. But he nodded at the first question and drew the puppet in closer to his chest._

A few weeks later, as she was passing Robbie's room, she heard voices emanating from inside. Her heart leaped into her throat and she drew closer, pressing an ear against the closed door.

"My name is Rex," Robbie's voice was saying. "My name is Rex. I'm Rex."

Unable to contain herself, his aunt burst into his room with wide eyes where she saw Robbie sitting on his twin bed with superhero sheets facing his puppet. His mouth snapped shut immediately when he saw her, and she swallowed heavily, mentally berating herself for not leaving him alone when he was making progress.

With a pat on the head and an "I love you Robbie" she turned on her heel and exited, closing the door behind her. She stood in the hallway for another few moments, waiting to see if he resumed, but no noise could be heard.

Holding back tears, the woman proceeded on her original path to the study where she picked up a few papers she had just printed and let her shoulders shake a few times.

" _Hello Robbie. Hello Rex. How are you doing today?"_

_The puppet was in front of his face, like the boy was afraid to look at the man sitting in front of him. His aunt was worried until a sound came out of Robbie's mouth. Or rather, the puppet's._

" _Sad," said Rex._

_There was no discernable change in the therapist's expression or body language, but it felt like the air in the room had been sucked out until there was hardly enough to breathe. "Why are you sad today, Rex?"_

" _I want my mommy and dad to come back."_

Slowly, Robbie's voice came back, through Rex. He always hid his face and let the puppet do the talking for him, but his aunt was so overjoyed that he was able to express himself again that she almost forgot there was a puppet between them when they had conversations. They weren't long or important, and as soon as she said anything that remotely reminded him of the incident he closed his mouth and refused to take his head out from where he would bury it in Rex's torso.

School was rough for him, as the other kids didn't understand why Robbie was allowed to bring a toy to school and why he made such a fuss when they asked if they could play with it. He still spent class silent, not able to start speaking again in front of so many people, and all of his recess time was passed in a corner of the room with Rex and a book.

It was one day during therapy that she realized just now special her nephew really was.

" _Today we're going to draw some pictures, okay? I want you and Rex to both draw a picture of your family for me. Can you do that?"_

_With a nod, Robbie picked up a few crayons and hurriedly began to scribble on his paper while the therapist doodled on his own, keeping a close on the boy with the puppet in his hand. When they were both finished the young man scooted around so he was side by side with Robbie and asked him, "Can you explain your picture for me Robbie?"_

_So Robbie did explain, but he wasn't saying anything. It was the puppet, it was Rex, who was speaking—Robbie's mouth was closed. And for the first time in almost eight months, his aunt was thinking about Robbie in terms other than the terrible accident. She was amazed._

" _That's Robbie, that's his mommy and that's his dad."_

_The therapist didn't seem fazed by this so she attempted to calm down and listen to the content of the conversation as opposed to how it was executed._

" _Why does Robbie look like that?"_

" _He's scared,"_

" _Of what?"_

" _Of his mommy and dad getting in trouble."_

" _Why would they get in trouble?"_

" _Because they were doing bad things and when you do bad things you get in trouble."_

" _Okay, and what is Robbie's dad holding?"_

" _He's holding the sharp sparkle that made mommy make loud noises and turn inside out."_

" _Is that was his mommy is doing in the picture, turning inside out?"_

" _Yes."_

His aunt realized that she could now see Robbie's face when he—Rex—spoke, because he no longer needed to move his mouth. Her eight-year-old nephew was a talented ventriloquist, and even though she didn't speak to Robbie at all, she did speak to someone, and that by itself made her feel much better about the situation.

Now that Robbie—Rex—was talking about the night that it happened, Robbie was having nightmares. He would wake up crying and clinging to the sheets for dear life while his aunt held him and rocked him, trying to lull him into a calm and back to sleep.

From what she could gather, the dreams had details that were as vivid as the day it happened, and her heart wrenched every time her poor boy had to go through the terrible torments of his mind while she could not fix them or make them go away.

He often begged her not to make him go to bed at night and saying no to that terrified face was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do in her life. Every night he eventually crawled under the covers and every night he awoke in horror.

The therapist assured her that this shouldn't last much longer. Reliving the traumatic past often caused bad dreams in people, but as soon as they were finished talking it out in therapy the best they could, they should disappear or at least lessen in frequency and intensity. Robbie simply needed to bleed out the poison in his mind.

(A poison full of blood and knives and stabbing and crying and screaming and  _Robbiesittinginthecorner_  alone and deathdeathdeath one after the other until there was nothing left but a little boy in a house—)

Sometimes, she had nightmares too.

And then one day his teacher called nearly in tears, and her heart stopped beating momentarily. But she just wanted to let her know, before anyone else did, that Robbie had spoken to the little girl Cat he sat next to in the classroom—and not through his puppet.

They went out for ice cream that night, and although Robbie didn't say anything to her without the aid of Rex, she couldn't have forced the smile off her face if she had wanted to.

Robbie slowly began speaking by himself more and more, until eventually there was a constant duality of voices and opinions, one out of his own mouth and one out of Rex's. His therapist was thrilled with the progress and assured her that the more Robbie regained courage to speak for himself, the less he would be using the puppet until he was back to his old self again.

And with these words of comfort, his aunt didn't see the harm in indulging Robbie's little game with Rex. She addressed both as two separate beings and learned to expect comments from both as if they were brothers and she their mother.

This constant double-speak lasted for a while, but she wasn't worried. Rex was a toy puppet brought into Robbie's life during a moment of high stress and would leave once he felt back to normal. Perhaps have a place of honor on a shelf or next to his bed.

;;

_Robbie doesn't remember where Rex came from anymore, or why. The puppet brings up no harsh memories of spilt blood or screeches of pain. And Robbie asks no questions._

_His aunt is worrying again._


End file.
